Saturday, January 19, 2008

First it Was a Bag of Garbage, Now it's My Husband

Upon leaving my mother's hospital room last night, I ventured on to the usual pick-up place to wait for Lar. Was supposed to meet him at 6:30.

Surprised but not alarmed (yet) that he wasn't there, I waited just outside the hospital main entrance, assuming he'd drive up any minute. It was bitterly cold, but I figured I'd better wait where I had a good view of the pick-up circle, as the view was obstructed inside by large pillars and other visitors milling about. So I waited, then waited some more.

After about, oh, I don't know, twenty and one half hours, my fingers began to stiffen into Witchy Poo claws, and the tips of my ears fell off, so I went inside to warm my bones, paced and fretted, worried and sniffed, went back outside, paced and sniffed, ignored the odd looks I was receiving from other waiters (I had been talking to myself at that point), for another forty-two hours, then hightailed it back up to Mom's room.

Sadly, I think I may have frightened Mom, the way I whooshed into her room like some sort of freeze-dried Bat Woman, coat flying out behind me, my hair askew, my nose crumbling ala Michael Jackson, expression frozen into a hideous, teeth-bared mask of pure pain and hatred.

Although I knew I'd startled my mother, I didn't care -- I wanted her phone, and did not give one whit who I startled, or which nurses were calling security at that moment. I wanted the phone, I wanted to find Lar, and I wanted to be warm, home, and curled up with a dictionary and a bag of Wendy's. That is all.

My oldest daughter answered the phone and told me that "Dad called and said he's been waiting forever."

This was my reply: ???????????????

Then: *******************************************

I ran back down to the main entrance in record time (no small feat considering the size of this frigging hospital), and frantically searched for any sign of an unusually large head-shadow looming behind the wheel of a champagne-colored H3, but no deal. I walked back and forth, over and around, spoke aloud to whomever was responsible for this nightmare, asked he or she or it to kindly fuck off and thanked them very much.

At this stage, I was near death, and angels appeared from on high to trumpet my welcome, but I'm a fighter, so I shooed most of them away and once again ran back inside.

A hospital employee was waiting there as well, and one of the angels, a stubborn, feisty Latina named Yolanda, whispered in my ear this: "Ask the lady if there is another entrance that leads to the lobby..."

So I did, and she answered.

Here was my reply to the kind hospital employee lady: !!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here is what Lar said to me when I sheepishly hopped into the car: %&$(#(#)@*@*@*((((@@@@@@@@@@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

3 Comments:

At 10:51 AM, Anonymous twoblueday said...

I have dreams like this, and always wake up sad.

 
At 10:34 AM, Blogger Ms. Lori said...

Huh?

Wow. Dude, you worry me.

And fill me with delight!

;-)

 
At 8:40 PM, Blogger SamD said...

Oh wow.

Look at all the life -you've- been living lately! And with such prose style, no less...you leave me in (me too me too I've done that same shit I have) smiling awe of your strength.

Hang tough and don't let the bastards get you down. That might be "illigitimus non carborundum" in Latin but then again it might not.

[Strong's a good place.]

 

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